


Sweet and right and merciful.

by Alexander_Slamilton



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Fluff and Angst, French, I mean Tall Boy is mentioned and kinda in it, Illnesses, M/M, Pining, Well - Freeform, alex can take care of himself ok, because every thing I write has to to have angst, founding fathers sin, historical fic, i love Major Tightpants, kind of, lots of sin, lots off, my favourite revolutionary war soldiers, sin - Freeform, the boys are too stupid to work it all out, they are my sons, they do eventually though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 10:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7840801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Slamilton/pseuds/Alexander_Slamilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" “You thought I was going to die?” Hamilton whispered.</p><p>“I did. I was certain of it. You do not know what it was like to see you that way,” John said, voice low, so as not to wake the other soldiers in near by tents.</p><p>“I would not leave you here alone, my dearest Laurens, I would not do that to you,” Hamilton stated firmly, reaching out and grabbing John’s hand."</p><p>Another historical fic, cause I just can't get enough of these two... Alexander gets sick and John realises some things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet and right and merciful.

 

 

The sky stretched out before them with such endlessness, the inevitability of the void could be the only thing on each of their minds. Even the thousands of crackling fires could do nothing to quell the sheer expanse of darkness that was laid above the two men. They sat on a hillside, far above the city of white tents they called home, a bottle of rum passed between them the rim of it warmed by lips that pressed against it. They had lit a small fire, but had hardly any need of it, the summer was warm and the nights followed the days lead. Both men had stripped down to just their shirts, cravats and waistcoats lay abandoned on the grass next to knees that sat tightly pressed against each other.

 

“I am disgusted with every thing in this world, apart from you, and maybe the Marquis,” Alexander Hamilton said, taking a large swig from the bottle.

 

“And why is that, my dearest Ham?” John Laurens pressed his shoulder against his friend’s

 

“I want to _fight._ I want to go out on the field, with a command of men, I can’t take another month being alone at a desk whilst I wonder if you’re going to come home,” Alexander sighed and leaned into the touch, “why wont Washington trust me?”

 

“He does, at least it does not strike me that he holds you in any form of distrust.”

 

“Then why does he refuse me?” Alex sighed, laying down on the grass, staring up at the sky.

 

“Perhaps, he values your life too much,” Laurens said softly, before drinking from the bottle.

 

“Like hell he does, you are just as much of a son to him and yet he lets you fight,” Alex snorted, “I am far more use to him on the battlefield than I am stuck behind that hunk of wood.”

 

“Rubbish. You and your words, they’re faultless; he places a good deal more trust in you than he had in any of our brothers, even me, do not belittle the General,” Laurens flicked Alex in the nose. 

 

“But, John-“

 

“Shush, drink more rum, you’re far more entertaining when you’re drunk. Besides, I have had enough of this melancholy coming from you to last me till the end of this war,” John smiled and leant back himself, balling his waistcoat into a makeshift pillow. 

 

“It’s nice to know what you really think of me,” Alex muttered but drank from the bottle anyway.

 

Silence fell over them then, like a blanket, it wasn't cold or uncomfortable but warm and companionable. They watched the stars, and listened to the songs and noises of camp; a breeze skittered across the tree tops and branches knocked together in it. The fire they had lit burned down till it wasn't really a fire at all, just a few flames flickering in the darkness, the smell of wood smoke washing over them. John turned his face and watched Alex’s eyes as they reflected the night sky back at him, he thought he could see other worlds encapsulated in their depths; he still sometimes wondered if all of this, his life, was real. The ground had been warmed by the sun, but now it was starting cool, the air too was becoming cooler; if anything though it made their situation more pleasant, it brought relief from the hot sticky summer days spent in thick wool coats. 

 

“Is Lafayette coming, or no?” John turned away from Alex and looked in the general direction of the path. 

 

“Aye, I think he is, at least he didn't say that he wasn’t,” Alex sat up on his elbows to get a better look; sure enough a tall willowy figure was outlined in the moonlight, striding up the leaf strewn path. 

 

“Bonsoir mes amis, ça va?” The marquis de Lafayette said, stripping off his coat and waistcoat before flopping on the ground.

 

“Hammie’s having a breakdown, I am wonderful, thank you,” John grinned.

 

“Oh cher! What has upset him now?” Lafayette clasped a hand over his chest and gasped dramatically, as Alex rolled his eyes and huffed out a half laugh. 

 

“He is convinced His Excellency hates him,” John said, passing Lafayette the bottle of rum. 

 

“Mais non! The general holds you and your opinion in great esteem,” Lafayette almost laughed as he drank deeply from the bottle, “there is no need to worry yourself so.”

 

“Then why wont he give me a command? Do I lack in my duties or-“

 

“Ham, stop worrying, you’re being a fool,” Lafayette clapped Alex’s shoulder and faced the stars, “la beauté des étoiles sont ce soir,” he promptly fell asleep. 

 

“Oui, si beau,” Alexander whispered, but he wasn't facing the stars, he was looking at John. Who started for a moment before Alex grinned and lay back down. “Tell me about them,” Alex said to John.

 

“Sure, over there.” He pointed out the individual stars, “that’s Cassiopeia, she is named after the queen Cassiopeia, who was vain and professed her beauty. She thought herself to be more beautiful than the sea nymphs and was cast into the sky as punishment. Over there you can see Hercules himself, kneeling; I am sure you do not need me to tell you about Hercules.”

 

“No, I do not,” Alexander smiled.

 

“Then, there is Lyra, and her brightest star, Vega. An instrument held in the lap of its player, this lyre is said to have been invented by Hermes himself; he traded the lyre to Apollo, who in turn gave it to his son, Orpheus. Orpheus’s wife Eurydice died and was taken down to the underworld, Orpheus went down to get her back. Hades promised that his wife would be returned to him, if he did not look for her on his way back. He lasted almost to the exit but lost faith in Hades and looked back. He could hear her wails as she was dragged back to the underworld,” John shrugged.

 

“How awful, to have something within your grasp to only have it ripped away from you,” Alex sighed and turned to face John, “you don’t think I am being unreasonable in asking for a command?”

 

“I do not.”

 

“I just want to risk my life for my country, what is so wrong with that. I cannot bear to languish behind a desk whilst you and Lafayette fight. There are some days I worry one or both of you are not going to come home,” Alexander sighed and lightly brushed his fingers against his friend’s face; John felt them burn against his skin, “I could not live with myself if I were safe in my tent while you died.”

 

“Alexander, do not worry yourself so, you’ll make yourself ill,” John smiled and secretly wished for the touch again. 

 

“I cannot bide by it, my conscience will not let me,” Alex said.

 

“Hush, do not wake the marquis up, he does not like to woken,” John joked, gesturing to the marquis, who was curled on his side breathing deeply.

 

They lay in silence for a short time, only broken by the snuffles Lafayette let out in his sleep. The rustling sounds of nature surrounded them branches whispering together in the trees; the low hooting of an owl and leaves chattering as they were blown around in the light wind. The two men, though they felt more like boys than men, moved closer together; as if drawn that way by gravity. They moved towards each other until they lay shoulder to shoulder, feeling the warmth seep between them, bare flesh only concealed between two thin shirts. 

 

“Those are not my favourite myths though,” John said, “the ones I told you.”

 

“Enlighten me then, Laurens, what is your favourite myth.”

 

“Achilles and Patroclus.” Alex felt heat pool in his gut at John’s whispered words. 

 

“The Iliad?” Alex grinned, his teeth visible in the low light of the fire, which illuminated one side of his face in orange. 

 

“Aye,” John smiled back, “their story is most compelling.”

 

“And what, pray tell, is compelling about it?” Alexander knew exactly what was compelling about Achilles and Patroclus, two soldiers in love. 

 

“How deeply they felt for each other,” Laurens coughed, and reached a hand up to his hair, the fire light showing the blush that kissed his cheeks. “How they loved in a place so loveless.”

 

“Most compelling,” Alexander murmured, watching John, their eyes meeting; their foreheads brushing.

 

“Mes amis, I think it is high time for us to retire, non?” Lafayette said, with a yawn, turning from where he had lain to look over at the other two.

 

“Oui! To our beds,” John said jumping at Lafayette’s voice, the blush that found his cheeks spread down to his shirt now and if Alex had looked he’d found it reached lower than that. 

 

“Pour nos lit, puis,” Alex gathered his coat and various bits of strewn clothing, disappointment clouding his thoughts. John and he had been dancing around each other for weeks. They both felt the sparks when they were together, when they touched; yet neither had done anything about it. Alexander looked to the future and the inevitability of death, and thought he would never forgive himself if he did nothing over what he felt for John. They were there constantly, always in the back of his mind, the thoughts. He felt love and lust and all things sinful for his brother aide. The plan was to fan those sparks in to a flame. He would not rest until John fell for him just as much as he had fallen for John. 

 

 

***

 

Sharing a bed with the person you love is hard, especially when they don’t love you back. All John wanted to do was touch Alexander; to run his hands over Alex’s body, to feel the warmth of his skin and, to taste. He shook himself mentally, he shouldn't think those thoughts about his closest friend, Alexander was a brother to him; he would be nothing else. Alex was curled up against his back, he could feel the other man breathing; feel the rise and fall of his chest and all he wanted to do was take him in to his arms but he couldn’t. He rolled on to his back and traced the beams that stretched across the ceiling. Pale columns of moonlight spanned the distance between

 

“John?” Alex mumbled, “Are you awake?”

 

“No, I am quite asleep, my dear Hamilton,” John muttered.

 

“In that case, I could not invite you to come and watch the sunrise with me on our hillside,” Alex said, starting sit up; throwing the covers off himself and exposing John to the cool air as he did so.

 

“I suppose not, alas I am suddenly quite awake, give me a moment.” John rolled out of bed, his feet slapping on the cold wood floor; he padded round the bed to where his trunk lay, next to Hamilton’s.

 

Alex groaned when he got out of bed fully, the cold rushing at him like a brick wall, but he persisted with his mission and pulled on his breeches and stockings. His fingers were slightly numb, but they co-operated and he did the buttons at the knees of his breeches fine. He slid his feet into the tall leather boots and threw his coat over his shoulders at the same time, and if he stumbled as he did so, nobody saw. 

 

“Come on, Hammie, the sooner we get walking the sooner I won’t freeze to death,” John was half dancing around, his breath fully visible as he spoke. 

 

They walked into the grey light of dawn, the sun had just started its journey through the sky; the morning was set to be hazy and warm. A light breeze danced across the tree tops; leaves twirled on the ground in pretty spirals. The smell of woodsmoke hung heavy in the air, it hovered in the air and spiralled towards the heavens like a ghost. Fog lay over camp, the log cabins to the East were mostly obscured; only silhouettes, looming through the fog. The hill was tall and the top of it peaked out above the fog, Hamilton grinned as they reached the top; they could see the sun, weak and yellowish casting an orange glow over the land. Ray stretching forward, the shadows of the trees elongated, a stark black against the parched; yellowed grass. 

 

“Beautiful,” John murmured as though he was afraid of breaking the peace. 

 

“Indeed,” Hamilton nodded. 

 

They sat shoulder to shoulder, their coats rustled together as they breathed in tandem. Alexander could feel John’s heat through his buckskin breeches; and was struck with the thought that there was too much material between him andJohn. He pushed the thought aside, left the job of sorting through it for another day. The sky wasn't filled with musket balls; it wasn't raining and none of his friends were nearly dying, Hamilton added those things up in his mind and considered all of it to come to a wonderful morning. The birds woke up then, calling through the early morning silence; the drummers and trumpet players started once the sun was fully past the horizon. The air was filled with the sound of camp waking up and readying for the day. 

 

“Time to return to the real world, mon ami,” John said, standing and rolling his shoulders back; cracking out the stiffness in his war weary bones. 

 

“Oui, à la vie, puis,” Alexander held out his hand to John. 

 

They walked back the way they came, trudging down the hill, their boots sliding on the damp grass. The smell hit them first, of blood and vomit curling through air; its tendrils drawing them in like moths to a flame. Sickness and death spread through the camp like wildfire, engulfing the men; killing them where they lay. 

 

“Shit.”

 

“We go away for an hour and the whole camp descends into chaos,” John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 

“Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, Colonel Hamilton, his Excellency wishes to see you in his tent sirs,” a young soldier said.

 

“Thank you er-“

 

“Major Ben Tallmadge,” said the man.

 

“Thank you Major,” John smiled and lead the way to the General’s tent. “What do you think he wants to talk to us about?” John said turning to Alex. 

 

“The disease? I don’t know, I thought we would have a few days before he’d want to see us again,” Alexander shrugged. 

 

They pulled the white tent flap aside, and ducked into the oval space. Light filtered through the material, creating a soft white interior, marred only by the large dark wood desk that took up half of the room. The commander in chief of the continental army sat behind the desk, scribbling something down on a piece of paper. 

 

“Ah, Hamilton, Laurens, at ease. I am concerned about the sheer numbers of men that are dying from this disease that seems to ravaging our camp. It would be, I think, a good idea to bring in some more supplies. I assume I can put you both in charge of this endeavour. It would be a good idea to check on the situation within the camp first,” The General looked up from the letter. 

 

“Of course, sir,” John said. 

 

“Yessir,” Hamilton nodded. 

 

“Very good, write to whomever you feel the need to. You have leave to travel; I am just writing a pass for you and then you may be dismissed.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” They took the passes and walked out of the tent. 

 

***

 

The camp was in state of chaos. John and Alex could smell the sickness that permeated through the men. They moved about checking on the stores of blankets and clothing; as well as the food and firewood the army had stockpiled. Soldiers moved about hurriedly, bloody cloths held out front of them as they were thrown on to fires. 

 

They were running low on blankets, and uniforms; especially coats. Food was ok, they had enough, just. They needed more doctors, the ones they had were already falling sick. 

 

“They have fevers, sirs. They can’t move, sirs,” the boy, he had to only be ten, said. He stared up at Alex and John with wide, scared eyes. He kept glancing back, watching the men write around on the pallets.

 

“Who are they to you?” John asked, gently, bending down so he could look the boy in the eye.

 

“They’re my brothers, sir.”

 

“You have parents?” John said, Alex already knew the answer and his heart sunk at the same time it constricted with love for John. 

 

“No, sir, they’re dead, sir.”

 

“Your brothers will be alright, you stay here and look after them, that’s an order. If anyone questions it, tell them to talk to Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens.”

 

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” The boy went back to his brothers, laying cool handkerchiefs on their foreheads. John turned back to Alex, and looked at him with a small, sad smile on his face.

 

“My little brother had a fever when I was five, I watched him die my mother’s arms,” said John.

 

“I'm sorry,” said Alex, John looked down, his eyes tracing the outline of Alex’s left boot the sad smile still played across his features. Tears welled his eyes, as he remembered his brother crying out in pain, the nurse pressing cold flannels against his head, as his mother sobbed on a chair nearby. He remembered the doctors face as he pronounced his brother dead; he remembered his mother’s cry of grief and pain; he remembered his father standing tall and stiff with the ghost of grief behind him. John shook his head and shook the feelings away, this was not the time to start crying. 

 

“Yes, well, I can’t remember it properly anyway,” he smiled properly this time, “come on, Ham, we’ve work to do.” 

 

They worked for hours, counting individual blankets and breeches; they counted the number of sick and dying and dead. By the time they finished Alexander’s face was pale, where his cheeks and been rosy that morning there was now no colour to be seen. 

 

“Alexander, are you quite alright?” John said, pressing a hand to Alex’s forehead. 

 

“I am perfectly fine Laurens, I just don’t like seeing others succumb to sickness,” Alex ducked out of John’s reach and sat at his desk, “We’ll write congress, beg them to send more doctors, blankets and uniforms out for the men-“ a cough wracked his body, he placed a hand on the wood to stop himself falling to the floor, “then we’ll send it with a courier in the morning.”

 

“Alexander, maybe you should lie down?”

 

“I am fine John, I just need to write this down,” he picked up a quill but had to admit defeat, his hands shook and ink splattered all over the parchment. 

 

“Alexander, go and lie down right now, you can dictate the letter to me,” John half pushed Alex on to his cot.

 

“I can take care of myself just fine,” Alex mumbled, slurring his words slightly; this time he didn't pull away as John tried to feel his forehead. 

 

“You’re burning, your skin is on fire. Alexander, how long have you felt this way?”

 

“Maybe, since lunchtime, I’m not sure,” Alex rolled onto his back, breathing in deep; laboured breaths. 

 

“You idiot! We were with the doctor at lunchtime and you didn't think to tell him you felt sick,” John pressed a wet cloth against Alex’s forehead. 

 

“I’m not an idiot,” Alex mumbled.

 

“Yes, yes you are. Wait here, do not move from this spot, I’m going to fetch the doctor.” John stood and grabbed his coat as he left the tent.

 

“’s not like I’m going anywhere anyway,” Alex croaked, his head felt like it was being split in two. 

 

***

 

The doctor said it was typhoid fever, he also said that if Alex survived for three weeks, he might live. _Might._ John knew that his friend was hard to kill. Alexander had survived yellow fever, _and_ a hurricane. But typhoid fever had killed half the camp. John wasn't so sure his friend would make it alive this time. 

 

“John… John…” the words sounded muffled. 

 

“Alexander?” 

 

“John? Is that you?”

 

“Alexander, its the middle of the night,” John sat up in bed, he wasn't angry with Alexander for waking him. In fact he was relieved, he hadn't heard the other man’s voice for three days.

 

“John, I can not remember where we are,” Alexander sounded terrified, his voice cracked halfway through the sentence. 

 

“We are at Valley Forge Camp. It is the 25th of April 1778,” John prompted Alex to remember, prayed that he would remember.

 

“Oh,” no recognition flew into the voice that responded, Alex tried to sit but his arms would not hold his weight. His chest heaved with effort, a rattling sound escaping from it, Alexander breathed as John had often thought Death would. Not a good sign. 

 

“Can you not remember?” John asked, though no answer came, Alex had fallen back asleep. His chest rattling, and stomach gurgling. 

 

***

Alex survived till the third week, John was hopeful he would survive longer. Alexander writhed around in his bed, picking at the bedclothes, and lunging for imaginary objects. 

 

“If he does not start to bleed from the inside, and if he does not contract pneumonia, he may live.”

 

“What are the chances of him surviving?” John said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “tell me truthfully, Washington has asked for a report. I would not serve him false hope.”

 

“Very low. Yet if what you tell me about the boy is true, he would beat off Death with his own scythe,” with that, the doctor smiled, and walked out of the tent.

 

“Did you hear that, Alexander, you would beat off Death himself, go on and bloody well do so,” John squeezed water in to Alex’s mouth using a rolled up bit of cloth. 

 

“I- ‘m trying,” the words were practically just breaths of air, John had to press his ear almost to Alex’s mouth to catch them. 

 

“Try harder, Alexander,” John croaked, tears forming in his eyes. 

 

“How is he?” Lafayette burst into the tent, “comment est mon petit lion?” 

 

“The doctor said he could live.”

 

“Si mauvais?” Lafayette moved to place a hand on Alex’s forehead, gently stroking the sweaty hair, brushing the strands back. 

 

“Oui, oui mon ami, si mauvais,” John didn’t take his eyes off Alexander, not even as Lafayette pressed a hand to his shoulder and squeezed. 

 

“We will bring him through, you will see,” Lafayette said, a steely determination colouring his eyes, “la mort dépérir devant nous.”

 

“I have every hope,” John lied through gritted teeth, “I need to write a report for Washington, would you help me?”

 

“But of course I would,” Lafayette grimaced and moved to the desk pulling up Alex’s chair. 

 

***

 

“You think he is going to die?” Washington looked up from the letter.

 

“Yes, your Excellency, I think it is entirely possible that he may die,” John said, though the very words caused him pain.

 

“Has he any family we should tell?”  


“He has told me of an Edward Stevens, also I believe him to have an older brother, though I am not sure where in the world he is or what his name is.” John sighed, cursing Alexander for being mysterious.

 

“I would be sorry to loose him,” Washington said, looking at John, “it would be a black day for the army were Hamilton to die.”

 

“I agree, sir.”

 

“Indeed, I would have him treated as my so-“

 

“He is awake! He is asking for, you Lieutenant Colonel Laurens!” The doctor’s apprentice was brought into the room by, the now Lieutenant Colonel, Benjamin Tallmadge.

 

“He was practically bouncing up and down outside, sir, your life guards were refusing him entry. I asked him who he was, he said you’d recognise him,” Tallmadge glanced at John, he smiled and nodded. A strand of dirty blond hair falling in front of his eyes, from where it had fallen out of his queue. 

 

“I do, Major, that is Jimmy. The doctor’s boy, who is awake, son?” The General said, smiling slightly at the child.

 

“Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton, sir, and he’s asking for Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, sir,” Jimmy said, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. The words came out rushed and excited.

 

“He’s awake? And he is in the right mind?” John gasped, relief washing over him in cooling waves. 

 

“Yessir, he is sir,” Jimmy grinned.

 

“Thank the Lord,” John sighed, a smile coming across his face, one so ear splitting he feared for his cheeks.

 

“I would go to him, he sounds as though he needs a friend. You are excused Lieutenant Colonel,” Washington waved a hand, “I have matters that need to be discussed with Tallmadge, here, please son, go to your friend.”

 

“Thank you, sir, I will report later with news,” John said, saluting Washington on his way out.

 

“Thank you, my boy,” Washington nodded. 

 

When they got back to the tent, Alexander was sitting up, propped against several pillows and rolled up coats. Lafayette was by his side, feeding him small pieces of bread and forcing water down his throat. He was muttering to Alex in french. 

 

“Vous devez boire mon ami,” Lafayette almost whispered, stroking Alex’s hair. 

 

“Alexander,” John said.

 

“Oh, my dear Laurens, I was worried so when I awoke to find you gone.”

 

“It would only be my luck that I would be gone when you woke, my friend,” John said, smiling slightly. 

 

“Only your luck would have it so,” Alexander nodded, “I am awake and well though, I think I may have used all my luck for the next few years in making it so.”

 

“Indeed, boy I am inclined to agree, never have I seen someone recover so well and so fast, not from typhoid fever.”

 

“Is that so?” John asked, looking at the doctor who had just walked in.

 

“Aye, it is, a miracle, if I may be so bold as to call it one,” the doctor smiled, pressing his hands against Alexander’s abdomen, “there is truly no pain?”

 

“None at all, sir,” Alexander did not even flinch.

 

“Well then, I would rest for the next two weeks at least, but I can see no reason not assume your duties if and when you feel ready to do so.” 

 

“Thank you, sir,” Alexander smiled as the doctor packed his case, handed it to Jimmy and walked back out the tent, shaking his head as he went. 

 

***

 

“I was so scared, in those weeks, so scared that you would not wake also that you would but you would be changed.”

 

“You thought I was going to die?” Hamilton whispered.

 

“I did. I was certain of it. You do not know what it was like to see you that way,” John said, voice low, so as not to wake the other soldiers in near by tents.

 

“I would not leave you here alone, my dearest Laurens, I would not do that to you,” Hamilton stated firmly, reaching out and grabbing John’s hand.

 

“How was I to know? You would not speak, or eat, or drink. I watched you wither away to nothing; it hurt my soul to see you like that,” he had to fight back tears, blinking them away furiously. 

 

“I swear that I will not get ill again,” Hamilton said, and John could see the outline of a smile gracing Alex’s lips. 

 

“Hush, its not funny,” John said, though he was starting chuckle.

 

“I swear, I would not leave you,” Hamilton removed his hand from John’s and stroked down the other’s face, gently; tenderly caressing the lines that made up the face he loved so, “I could not leave you, not even if I wanted to.”

 

“I would not let you,” John grasped the hand tugging on it, Alexander moved, slipping out of his bed and into John’s.

 

Their legs tangled together, and they touched each other, both of them realising that they could have been doing this a lot sooner. John traced Alex’s hairline, revelling in the softness of the baby curls that rested there. Alex’s hand moved to cup his jaw, and bring their lips together, moving as one, John rolled to rest atop Alex. He luxuriated in the feeling of another warm body under his, not jus any body, the man he loved above everyone else in the whole world. His every nerve cried out at the feeling of warm skin against his, of fingers and hands moving against him, touching him. He reeled with feeling, with emotion, with the sensation of lips against his. The whole world seemed to sing with joy, choruses of angels trumpeting their union. 

 

“Alexander.”

 

“My Laurens?”

 

“I love you.”

 

“And I, you,” Alex grinned against John’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Cherry Wine by Hozier.
> 
> Please comment and kudos, I need attention to validate myself. It really does mean a lot, and it helps keep me writing... Thank you :D


End file.
